On the sick list: where too much snot is barely enough

We’ve been on the sick list this week. It’s been a joyous week of coughing, sneezing, snot, tissues and chasing a two year old around waving a vial of medicine he won’t take. It is about as much fun as it sounds. Actually, it’s not. It is totally and utterly like beating your own head against a brick wall, while a two year old shows you his bottom, which as we all know, is lovely when it stops.
We have had an ok run since the last lot of childcare bugs descended. I, myself, managed to remain unscathed through the plague of April. But I felt this one coming for me from a long way off. So, so tired, and then down like a bag of spuds.

There was one tiny piece of joy in all this gloom and snot. I managed to start Foal’s Bread by Gillian Mears, I am about to finish it and then write to a review for Australian Women Writers Challenge.

Farewell then, on a pollyanna sort of note. My silver lining was an excellent book.